Second Thoughts
by DixieH
Summary: "She didn't become a cop to help murderers evade justice." Set during Many Happy Returns, Carter has second thoughts about working with Harold and John.
1. Chapter 1

_This is a retelling of the Season 1 Episode entitled Many Happy Returns with added dialogue and scenes. It focuses on Carter's thoughts as she deals with revelations about John Reese that are hard for her to accept. This work diverges from canon ever so slightly. Dialogue marked with ** is taken directly from an episode. No copyright infringement intended or implied. Characters and the story belong to others and not to me._

_ I had difficulty finding a transition that worked between sections, so ended up posting each section as a chapter. So although the writing is complete, posting may take a while. Frustration abounds. _

_If you have complaints, complements, or suggestions, please hit the review button. – Dix._

**Second Thoughts**

Carter pushed through the door and out onto the sidewalk. She looked both ways and scanned the street across from the bar. She was nervous. Meeting Harold Finch face to face, even in a place as unlikely as this bar, posed a risk and now wasn't the time to drop her guard. Not seeing any familiar shapes or faces, she headed for her car, parked a block away.

She'd met Harold hoping for some clarity. She hoped he'd have answers to her questions about New Rochelle. Instead he'd deflected her concerns and encouraged her to go chasing after Special Agent Donnelly. He'd even had the audacity to suggest she cover John's tracks. At least that's what he seemed to be saying.

Special Agent Donnelly was sure that the man in the suit had participated in some sort of murder for hire scheme in New Rochelle. She'd hoped Harold would be ignorant of the event, or better yet have evidence to the contrary. "John?" She'd hoped he had said, "He would never do such a thing." Instead talking with Harold had only served to muddy the waters. "You'll get to any evidence before the F.B.I."** He'd told her. Well he had confidence in her investigative skills at least; even if he did think she was a dirty cop.

Her immediate reaction had been indignation. But by the time she reached the car, the irony of it, made her laugh out loud. Who was she kidding? She was already protecting a known fugitive. She was lying to her colleagues and passing on confidential information. It would seem that Harold knew her better than she knew herself.

So she'd go to New Rochelle and have a look for herself and if the truth about John's past was difficult to accept, she'd have to face up to it.


	2. Chapter 2

Carter listened to Special Agent Donnelly and looked around the house where Peter and Jessica Arndt lived in New Rochelle. The bloody crime scene photographs didn't look like John's work, a man trained to kill quietly and carefully. There had to be something that Donnelly was missing.

Joss looked at Jessica Arndt's x-rays and asked all the right questions, but she had to agree with the medical examiner. Sometimes things were just what they looked like; car accidents were car accidents and spiral fractures weren't the result of systematic spousal abuse. On the other hand she knew that money was the number one cause of marital unhappiness and often the cause of fatal fall outs between people. A real estate developer with angry investors, a gambling problem and a loan shark on speed dial wasn't likely to be the best husband.

Joss listened carefully to Jessica Arndt's mother. Jessica loved Peter, Peter loved her. Peter was successful; a good catch. Maybe Jessica had told her mother the truth. Maybe they really were working things out. Joss sipped the iced tea and listened as Jessica's mother spoke, sifting through everything she was hearing and everything she knew.

What was the connection between Peter Arndt and John Reese? She wondered again. If this was murder for hire, why move the body? Why not leave it as a warning for others who might fail to fulfill their financial obligations? She was no closer to solving the puzzle than before.

But there was something here, something Harold thought she should see. Maybe he was having second thoughts about John. Maybe that's why he encouraged her to come. Maybe he didn't want her to cover up evidence; perhaps he was counting on her to make sure that John Reese was apprehended. All these things were running through her head as she stood and began to say good-bye to Jessica's mother. There were so many scenarios that she almost missed the piece that unlocked the puzzle.

"A solider?"** Joss repeated hearing motherly disapproval.

"Yes, it was a fling, but I sometimes wonder . . ."** She described the man who did his duty.

"Do you know his name or have a photo?"** Joss tried not to let her rising interest show. This might be the connection. If John and Jessica had a relationship, this might explain John's visit to New Rochelle.

"No, but you could look at Jessica's things." Jessica's mother waved her hands over the boxes. I don't know why I've kept all of this." Her eyes filled with tears. "Let me know when you're finished."

"Will do," Joss waited for her to retreat before she opened the first carton.

When the jewelry box revealed its secret, a photo of Jessica and John together, Carter finally understood John's connection to New Rochelle. Perhaps he knew Jessica was being abused, or suspected it or was simply angry that Peter drove the car the night she died. Whatever the motive, this wasn't murder for hire. This was an eye for an eye. This was Old Testament retribution. John held Peter Arndt responsible for Jessica's death.

Carter put the photo in her pocket and finished rifling through Jessica's boxes with a new perspective and a new problem. The photo linked John to a uniform which she could trace to a time and location. With that information and the right contacts she could get a name, an identity. The problem was whether or not to share her new-found information with Special Agent Donnelly or follow the lead herself. Ultimately, she decided to see what her own back channels would yield.

"Gene?" She said, "Joss Carter, I need a favour."** In a matter of days she might have John Reese's service record in her hand. She wasn't sure what she'd do with it, but it was one more piece of the puzzle.


	3. Chapter 3

Joss sat behind the steering wheel of her car; the stolen photograph of Jessica and John on the seat beside her. Her hands gripped the steering wheel. The freeway gave her time to think, but her thinking wasn't really leading anywhere except round and round. Her training as an interrogator, to read body language, and vocal cues, to listen carefully to what the subject said and what the subject did not say, honed in Afghanistan and Iraq, had given her a gut instinct, that was rarely wrong. She could read people and she could read them quickly. From their very first meeting at the precinct, she'd believed that John Reese was a good guy. When he saved her life, she was certain of it. Now she was having second thoughts. Perhaps she had been wrong about him from the start. She would have to do her duty. She had to turn him in.

She was still driving and deliberating, when her phone rang. Harold's voice was sharp and urgent in her ear. "Can you help? I don't know how to stop him."**

"Stop him? Stop John? Harold what's going on?"

"I tried to keep him out of it. Our latest number is a woman who is being abused by her husband. I think John's going to kill him."** Harold gave her the details.

Icy chills ran down her spine. This was the same as New Rochelle. He'd killed Peter Arndt . He would kill Brad Jennings if she didn't find him. Now her way was clear. She had to prevent this murder. She had to rescue Brad Jennings. Harold and John were supposed to prevent bad things from happening to people. That's what she'd signed up for; not this, not this. She took the next off ramp and followed Harold's directions.

It took a while to find John but when she did, she flipped the switch and he responded to the flashing lights by pulling over. Getting out of her car, alone on a dark highway, she realized the futility of her situation. Without back up she had no chance to apprehend him. She could draw her gun and order him out of the car. He might drive off. He might get out. On level ground he had her out gunned, even if she was somehow able to handcuff him.

That left her with her skills as an interrogator. Could she negotiate Brad Jennings release? Could she talk John into doing the right thing? It was the only thing which had any chance of success. "You can't execute this man. You can't do this."** Would he still choose this path if he knew that she knew his plans? "Should I look in the trunk?" **

But his logic was persuasive and true. "Trust me to do what you can't, Detective." ** She couldn't guarantee justice for Jennings or even safety for his wife. The courts didn't always work the way they were intended. A bullet would save the courts, and Jennings' wife. Would anyone mourn Brad Jennings? She stood on the road and watched until the tail lights disappeared in the dark. I will, she thought, because his blood is on my hands.

Back in the car, her phone was ringing.

When she answered, Finch asked, "Did you find him?"

"I couldn't stop him."

"I see."

"I could call the local authorities, they could set up roadblocks but that would only get good police officers killed."

"I'm sure you're right, Detective." Harold's voice was a thin whisper.

"I can't do this, Harold. I'm a cop. I protect people." But she said it to empty air, because Harold had already hung up.


	4. Chapter 4

It was after midnight some days later. John Reese put the key in the lock and opened the door. This particular apartment was one of the better ones in his inventory. It was in a decent neighbourhood in a quiet building. Light drifted across the floor where the uncovered window let the ambient light from the street in. He had his hand on the deadbolt and his back to the room when his brain reacted to something in the air. Later he would know it for the scent of her perfume; but in that instant, he only knew that his refuge had been violated. When he turned, he had a gun in his hand.

Joss stepped out of the shadows, the light falling around her in a soft halo. She posed no threat but he held the gun. "It's just me, John." She said. "Is this the way you treat a guest?"

"Uninvited ones get this treatment, Joss." His voice was quiet and except for the gun, he didn't seem concerned by her sudden appearance. "How did you find this place?"

"I followed you." She shrugged. "On one of those rare days when you weren't tailing me."

John nodded, raising his eyebrows slightly. "And the deadbolt?" he said, with a nod towards the door.

"You're not the only one with the ability to walk through locked doors."

He shoved the gun back in his waistband and flipped the switch to turn on the overhead light that illuminated the room. It wasn't much, a single bed along one wall, a small kitchen table with two battered wooden chairs, a fridge, a hot plate and a small bank of cupboards. A dismal sofa, lumpy with faded, soiled fabric was pushed against the wall; tables on each side. She'd seen rooms in SRO hotels that looked better than this place.

John headed for the fridge. He reached inside it for two long-necked brown bottles. He twisted the cap off the first one and handed it to her. She looked at the label and smiled. "I though you international espionage types drank imported stuff. " She said, "Not Coors Light".

He smiled, "When in Rome." He said taking a long sip.

When she didn't join him, he lifted the bottle slightly and said, "Drink up. Or maybe this isn't a social call."

She turned the bottle in her hand. "Actually, I came to turn in my resignation." When he didn't respond, she continued. "Since you saved my life and all, I thought I should do it in person."

John shook his head slightly. "That's not really how this works." He said. "Once in, never out."

"No," She said. "I don't think so." She set the untouched beer on the table beside the sofa.

"I know where you live, John." She said waving her hand. "And where Harold spends his days. I know what happened in New Rochelle and what happened to Brad Jennings. The F.B.I. would be delighted to have those details."

"So you came to make threats. Now I know why I didn't invite you before."

"Not threats," She said, "Not exactly. I have something to trade. In exchange for my silence, you and Harold leave me alone. No more phone calls, no more visits, no more GPS tracking." With that she pulled the phone out of her pocket that Harold had provided and set it beside the beer.

John set his beer down on the other small table beside the sofa. He pulled off his suit jacket and dropped it over the back of the kitchen chair. He undid buttons on his cuffs and rolled up the sleeves. He slipped the gun out of his waistband, carefully removed the clip and the bullet in the chamber and set them on the kitchen table.

"John," She said, but didn't finish her thought.

He sat on the sofa. His legs stretched out in front of him and one arm along the back of the couch. He reached for the beer. "We don't really have a retirement plan, at least not one you'd like."

She had to walk around the end of the sofa to look him in the eye. "I'm a cop. You're a - a fugitive." The first word was difficult to say, the second came easier, "a killer."

"So," he said, "Maybe I should kill you." He didn't look at her but concentrated instead on placing the beer bottle carefully on the table near his elbow. "That way you'll never talk."

She shook her head then and bit her bottom lip, trying to rein in the anger that his words evoked. "I thought we could talk. I thought you might just understand. I didn't come here to beg for my life." Her face was hard. She strode towards the door, but he caught her in two strides and wrapped his hand around her arm.

"Joss," He said, his voice low like the rattle before the strike. "You knew the deal. What's changed?"

She turned to look him in the eye. "Jennings," She said. "And your brand of justice. You can't play God, John. You don't get to decide who lives and who dies."** She pulled her arm but couldn't break his grip. "I forgot who I was for a little while. But, I'm a cop John. I have rules. I'm not willing to break them anymore." She swallowed hard and looked away. This was the truth at least most of the truth.

He drew her back to the sofa gently and finally let go of her arm, when she sat down. "The truth," He said. "How about the truth?"

She shook her head, and said, "What makes you think, I haven't told you the truth already?" Swiping a finger along her nose in a gesture he knew meant white lies and half-truths.

He dropped his gaze to the floor, his hands clasped together between his knees. "Truth is Joss," His voice was so low, so quiet, she had to lean in to catch his words. "I'll be a mess, if you walk away." He said. There was silence for a long minute before he continued. "It's been a long time since I've had a friend."

"John," She said. "This can't be about that." She shook her head. It had never occurred to her that her feelings for him might be returned.

"For a long time," He said "I had work and nothing else, no friends, no family. No one I trusted. Then, there was someone I cared about but I let the work get in the way." His head shook with little tremors remembering Jessica's sweet smile.

"Jessica?" She said in a whisper.

"I let her walk away." John glanced her way.

"I can't do this," she said standing up. "I jeopardize everything in my life if I keep doing this. You get that don't you? I have a son to raise and a job that pays my bills. If I get caught on the wrong side of this both those things go away. Cops don't do well in prison."

She inhaled noisily. His head was lowered. He didn't say anything at all. She reached out to touch his shoulder, but he flinched at her touch and stood up abruptly. They were standing toe to toe. She was looking up and he was looking down. "I care about you John," She finally admitted. "I care what happens to you." In different circumstances, on a different day he might have reached for her and she might have responded, but not on this day.

"It's late" He said finally. "You should go." He stepped out of her way.

She stood her ground, but she was feeling uncertain.

"I'll let Harold know not to contact you anymore." He said it to the wall behind her head. "I won't call." He made a show then of getting out his phone and deleting her contact information, but he wouldn't, he couldn't meet her gaze.

He picked up his beer bottle, drained it and headed for the kitchen. She walked towards the door. He listened for the turn of the deadbolt and the snick that said the door had closed behind her. He'd been trained to shutter his emotions, never to let anyone see his true feelings. That's why he had to wait, wait until he was sure she was gone. He turned then and with practiced aim fired the glass bottle in his hand at the closed-door. It shattered in a thousand brown shards.

"Mr. Reese?" The voice said in his ear. "Is everything alright?"

Reese taped the device to respond. "Sure Harold. I broke a bottle, that's all."

"I meant with Detective Carter."

"I don't know Harold. Do you think she'll keep quiet?"

"I'm not sure John."

"I could put two in the back of her head and make sure she doesn't jeopardize our work."

"Mr. Reese!" Harold's horror was shrill in his ear.

"No, Harold? Well I'm glad you feel that way, because I don't think I could do it."


	5. Chapter 5

When Joss returned to the precinct after lunch a few days later, there was a courier's envelope on her desk. She picked it up and turned it over looking at the sender's address. Nothing on the envelope gave a clue to its contents. She turned in a slow circle scanning the room for operatives or agents, seeing none, she peeled back the strip and slid the dossier out. She dropped the envelope in the trash, and settled in her chair with the file open in front of her. A photo of a man in uniform was clipped inside. Though the name on the jacket was different, this was the man she knew as John Reese; the man in the suit. She took a deep breath, let it out slowly and began to read.

She read it carefully taking in all the details of his military life: enlistment, training courses, grades, promotions, and operational achievements. This man was a good solider. She closed the file and ran a finger over the name: "John" but not "John Reese". This soldier became an operative for the C.I.A., and assumed a new name. This soldier was dead, enshrined at Langley with a star on their wall. He is no one's problem anymore.

The man he became, however, John Reese, the man in the suit; he is her problem. She thinks this file might be useful insurance against his further intrusion into her life. Why he chose murder over justice for Arndt and Jennings she does not know. She knows that if he chose murder for them, others will die too. She didn't become a cop to help murderers evade justice. She made a lucky escape. It gave her a measure of relief. She hasn't heard from him since her visit to his apartment. She takes this as a sign that he is willing to abide by her request. They are estranged and she knows that she was right to walk away though some part of her wishes it were not so.

The file is a deadly token to keep, even if it prevents further contact from John or Harold. Discovered in her possession this file could just as easily end her career as any other connection to the man in the suit. In the end she decides it is not worth the risk.

Standing at the shredder, Joss riffled the pages of the file one last time. She wondered when she became this person: shredder of confidential government documents, keeper of secrets, protector of fugitives. She slipped the file into the gap and the machine came to life chewing up the man and rendering him M.I.A. never to be resurrected. His military portrait is face up beside the shredder, under it the accident report from the New Rochelle P.D. and also the photo she found at Jessica's mother's home. She picked up each item in turn, pocketing the photos and running the report through the shredder. Without his service record, there is little chance the photos can be linked to the man in the suit. She's not sure why she kept them, except that now that she has severed her relationship with John Reese they are all she has to remind her that once he called her friend.

She is also not sure what she was hoping to know or to feel at the end of this. Knowing his real name, his home town, knowing that the woman he loved was murdered, none of these things helps her to be free of the shadow of John Reese, who looms large, or Brad Jennings, whose blood is on her hands.

The phone in her pocket rings as she heads for her desk. The name is unfamiliar. She is startled by his story. Gustavo Pena's words ricocheted around her brain the rest of the afternoon. Brad Jennings is in custody in a Mexican prison. Drug trafficking charges will make his sentence a long one. It is unlikely the U.S. government will take much more than a passing interest in his interment. She struggled to assimilate this new information and wondered if it changed anything.

She is still distracted by his revelations when she unlocked her front door after work. John hadn't killed Brad Jennings. Instead, he'd given him the justice he deserved; an unlimited hell hole prison term with little possibility of mercy or parole and if she'd understood Pena correctly, there were others like him. John's brand of justice wasn't murder after all. But what did that mean for her? While she felt at once relieved, she could not shake the feeling that she was better off for having severed her connection to the man in suit.


	6. Chapter 6

Fusco answered the ringing phone without glancing at the call display. Instead of saying hello, he said, "What's with you and Carter?"

"Hello to you too, Lionel," John said.

"You're getting predictable for a spy. Every day, same time I get the same phone call."

"What do you mean, Lionel?"

"I mean you've called me every day for the past three weeks" It's an exaggeration, John thinks but he doesn't respond. "And it's always the same questions. Where is she? What is she working on? How come you've got me stalking her? Did she change the locks on her place, lose her phone or something?"

"It's not a big deal Fusco."

"Yeah, sure."

There's a moment of silence, then John says, "So Lionel, how is she? What's she working on?"

Lionel sighs loudly, but there is no response to his frustration except more silence. "Yesterday, we caught this case, clearly the husband whacked the wife. We know it but there's no forensics, no history of abuse, no big insurance payout; she's just dead and we can't prove the bastard did it."

"And Carter?"

"I don't know she seems like she's got something on her mind, but she's not sharing with me. I figured it for something personal, her kid or something."

"Keep an eye on her Fusco."

"She's my partner." Lionel said as though that guaranteed his oversight.

Finch listened in. John's obsession with the detective hadn't waned in the weeks since her "resignation". Though Harold was keeping an eye on her too, it was clear that John's interest was personal. Harold tracked her movements with G.P.S., watched her house with a camera he installed near her door and listened to the calls she made and received on the phone she used for work. There had been no suspicious activity whatsoever. To Harold she seemed to be keeping her word. There was no threat of disclosure. Detective Carter was not cooperating with the F.B.I. or the C.I.A.

When Harold raised the subject with John, he got an angry response. "Of course she's not talking to them, Harold. She said she'd keep quiet if we left her alone. I've been discrete. You've been discrete." Harold raised an eyebrow surprised that Reese knew he was continuing to track the detective. "She wouldn't break her promise unless she felt threatened."

"Perhaps just one of us needs to continue to keep an eye on her then," Harold suggested.

Reese nodded. "Feel free to stop anytime you like, Harold." John walked away then. The door to further discussion firmly closed.


	7. Chapter 7

Joss couldn't get over the brutal murder of Isabella Knowlton. Her husband had killed her. There was no dispute among her colleagues, but there was also no evidence and no possibility that the N.Y.P.D. would achieve justice for her or her three small children without it. John would have known what to do. He would have found a way and there would have been justice of some sort.

It took her a few days; a few days of careful consideration and most of a whole bottle of wine to get up her courage to ask for her old job back. She wasn't sure when she dialed the phone if it was the right thing to do, but she was tired of being powerless.

"Hello?" Harold managed to answer the phone, but he was still grasping in the dark for his glasses when he spoke. Sitting up in bed, he finally laid hands on the frames and put them on.

"Harold?"

"Yes?" He said.

"Joss Carter." She said, "I'm sorry to call so late."

"Detective," He said. "What can I do for you?" He reached the lamp and turned it on.

"I wondered if you could use my help. You and John." She set the photo, the one of the man in the uniform down and picked up the mostly empty glass of wine.

"I'm surprised to hear from you, Detective. I had the impression that you were no longer available." Harold listened to her tone of voice and wondered if perhaps the call was being recorded. He is careful.

"Well I've changed my mind."

"I see," He said, but plainly didn't. "I think you should speak to John. Perhaps you could meet him?"

"I could do that." She said.

"Very well, I'll text you the details, the time and place."

When the call ended, Joss leaned back in her chair and slowly rotated the wine glass in her hand. She let out one long shaky breath and questioned not for the last time if she shouldn't have left well enough alone.

Harold got up and checked the video of Carter's house and reviewed the log of her recent telephone calls. There seemed to be no overt reason for her change of heart. There was nothing to suggest that she was in league with the F.B.I. or C.I.A. against them. Perhaps she had simply changed her mind. Harold couldn't help feeling pleased with this turn of events. John had been troubled since the night she resigned. It seemed he counted on her friendship more than Harold grasped. Harold couldn't wait to tell him.


	8. Chapter 8

Harold stopped typing when he heard footsteps on the stairs. John made a conscious effort to alert his partner to his presence at the library now. Harold appreciated the accommodation.

"Morning, Mr. Reese," Harold turned from the keyboard to greet him. There was nothing in Harold's demeanor to alert Reese to the news that was coming.

"A new one Harold?" John said looking at the board, where the photo of a black man stared back. John set a cup in front of Harold and took a sip from his own.

"Yes, but before we attend to that, I need you to meet with Detective Carter."

John turned to look at Harold. "Is she okay? Does she need something?" There is concern in his voice.

Harold shrugged. "I spoke to her last night," He said. "Late." Harold deliberately said less than he knew. He watched John's reactions.

"I thought we weren't talking to Carter anymore."

"She called me. I want you to deliver this phone." Harold moved a phone from one spot to another on the table. "I've sent you a text with the number." John's phone pinged with text alert. "She wondered if we had a new number and offered her assistance." Harold said evenly.

John pondered briefly. "Maybe she's working for the FBI or the CIA. This meeting could be a trap."

"Maybe it is. You don't have to go if you don't want to." Harold offered him a way out knowing that he won't take it.

"If she takes the phone, we'll be able to hear who she's talking to and what she says." John said rationalizing.

"Yes, there is that"

John picked up the phone and slid it into his jacket pocket.

"Where am I meeting her?"

"For breakfast, the address is in the text I sent too. Let me know how it goes."

"You'll hear every word Harold, no need to repeat myself." John's walked away scrolling through his phone; he couldn't see Harold's broad smile.

Carter was waiting. She was fidgeting with a napkin, rearranging the cutlery on top. John scanned the restaurant. There weren't any watchers outside and inside seemed to be a regular array of early morning diners. He'd watched the place long enough to see her arrive. If there was a team in place, he hadn't spotted them. No one took any notice of him inside the restaurant except a waiter who followed him to the table with a coffee pot and a menu.

"Hi Carter," John said sliding into the booth across from her.

"John," she said. "Good to see you." She stifled a smile of relief. After their last meeting she wasn't sure he'd turn up. The waiter topped off her coffee and filled his cup.

"Harold tells me you've changed your mind." John said after the man walked away.

"Yes," she said. It came out hoarse and she cleared her voice and said it again. "Yes."

"Did they turn you Carter? Are you working for both sides now?"

She shook her head and pursed her lips, before answering. "No. No" she said. "This was entirely my decision."

"I thought you'd already made a decision."

She shrugged. The waiter came by "What can I get you?" He asked, pencil at the ready.

"Blueberry muffin" Joss said pushing her menu towards him.

Eggs Benedict" John said to the waiter. To Joss he said, "Harold says they're good here."

"So what happened?" He asked when the waiter was gone.

"I got a phone call," she said. "It seems that the man I was so concerned about is actually in custody and he'll be there for some time." Her voice is a whisper and he leans in to listen.

John nodded "That's all it took to change your mind?"

She smiled. "Donnelly's an ass," she said.

John grinned.

"There's something else." Her expression was serious. She reached into her jacket and slid a photograph across the table face down.

"What is it?" John asked.

"A photo I came across while I was in New Rochelle." He flipped it over. She watched his expression, but it never wavered. "I think, you knew what was happening to her John. I think you went to New Rochelle to save her and arrived too late."

He didn't look at her. He didn't say anything. He only had eyes for the two people in the photo. She continued. "I think you decided that Peter should pay the price. I think you took him for a drive too."

"Joss," He began but she held up a hand to stop him.

"I can't prove any of it." She said shaking her head. "It's not evidence; it's speculation." He looked out the window and didn't reply.

"You're not who I thought you were, John." She said it gently. He looked her way and held her gaze for a moment before replying.

"I'm not a good guy Joss."

"No not a knight in shining armor after all." She looked down into her lap where she had carefully shredded a paper napkin.

The waiter paused at their table and topped up their coffee cups. When he was gone, Joss said, "You asked me to trust you." She was bold now and looked him in the eye. "To trust you to do what needs to be done. To do what I can't do."

He nodded. "And?"

"I do trust you." When he didn't say anything, she said. "I've missed hearing from you these last few weeks." He wasn't sure what to say by way of response. Instead he reached across the table and gave her hand a brief squeeze.

"What about the risk to your job, and to Taylor if you're discovered?"

"It is a risk, but this work is important too. You told me, that I'm not alone, that you're looking out for me. I trust you to do that too."

He smiled and nodded his agreement. "So what now?"

The waiter came with their breakfast orders. John picked up the photo and slid it into his jacket pocket.

"Now we have breakfast," She said turning the plate in front of her.

He smiled back at her and picked up his fork. Then as though he had second thoughts, he set the fork down and tapped the device in his ear to open communications with Harold. John said, "You get all that Harold?"

Reese couldn't see Harold's reaction, but he could hear the smile in Finch's voice. "Bon appetite, John."

- Fin -

_Thanks for reading. – Dix._


End file.
